‘Max, we can’t see you. You all look the same.’
He was right. Apart from bloodstains, there was no colour in our clothes. Everyone was covered in dust. Even our hair was grey. Our faces were thick with it. I could see the tear tracks on the faces of those around me.
‘Where are you, Major?’
‘I’m at the Scaean Gate. Ritter’s out on the plain and Markham’s down by the South Gate.
‘I’m at the Scaean now.’
And at that moment, my luck ran out, because the same runty little soldier who found me in the first place took exception to my murmurings and hit me hard with his spear butt, right across the face.
I thought I’d gone blind. I definitely thought my nose was broken. I staggered sideways and would have fallen, but the two women on either side grabbed me and held me upright. I guessed that if you couldn’t walk then you were dead.
I tried not to panic. This was Ian Guthrie. He would find me. I was tagged – we all were – and if he could get close enough then they could trace me, whether I could see or not. So despite everything I felt reasonably optimistic, until I staggered out on to the plain and as my sight cleared, I saw, for the first time, the scale of Troy’s defeat. There were thousands and thousands of people, women mostly, sitting, lying, standing in shuffling lines … thousands and thousands of them.
How would they ever find me?
Chapter Twelve
I could feel my eye swelling and my nose felt like a football. If I ever got my hands on that little runt … although actually he’d done me a favour because now I could bunch my stole and use it to mop up my nose and cover my mouth at the same time.
‘Leaving gate. Moving west. About 30 women. Three guards.’
We trudged on a little further. The two women with me wouldn’t let go and I didn’t push it. I was familiar with this. In a crisis, help someone else. It’s a kind of defence mechanism for the mind. Something else to think about. I patted their hands to thank them.
We halted at the top of the beach. Our guards leaned on their spears and picked their noses. Occasionally, one shouted to another. This was the dangerous time. No supervision from higher up and they would soon get bored. They would want a little fun.
‘Max, sit down.’
I sat.
A pause.
‘Stand up again.’
I stood, looking around me.
‘Now sit.’
I sat, but I’d attracted attention. Little runty man lifted his spear, but before he could get to me, we were on the move again.
Now they meant business. We formed a line. Around me, passive despair was giving way to desperation as women fought for their children, their babies, their freedom. It was suicide, but that didn’t stop them. Many preferred to die here on the beach, outside their own city rather than be taken away by the Greeks. More soldiers piled in, punching and kicking and, in extreme cases, despatching the troublemakers without a second thought. The sand was stained with blood.
It was hot and they were impatient and thirsty. Occasionally, someone would be singled out as an example to the others …
Our own line shunted slowly forwards. Towards what, I couldn’t see. But I had only seconds. If they didn’t find me soon … once I was on a ship … if I got that far. Not everyone made the cut. Where was St Mary’s? The two women in front of me were yanked away.
I stared blearily at a pair of dirty feet in scabby sandals. Someone hauled me to my feet. Not gently. A hand grasped my chin and turned my head this way and that, looking, inspecting. I was turned around. Someone’s hands were all over me, assessing my worth.
A voice said, ‘It’s me.’
I couldn’t see much, but I knew that voice.
‘This will hurt. I’m sorry,’ said Guthrie. ‘Go limp.’
He slapped my face – which began to throb all over again. I had no difficulty going limp and he heaved me over his shoulder like a sack of coal. Shouts of advice and encouragement followed us off the beach.
‘Report,’ I said, from upside-down, arms dangling.
‘Van Owen’s team has jumped. Markham and Ritter returned with them. All personnel correct and accounted for. Number Eight with Peterson is still here. Waiting for you and me.’
He stopped talking.
Leon wouldn’t go without me. Something was wrong.
‘And Chief Farrell?’
‘Will probably be waiting for us when we get back.’
I said no more. He had other things on his mind. Like getting us through a burning city filled with drunken, violent soldiers exacting revenge for a ten-year siege.
It wasn’t easy. Every other Greek soldier, laden with looted gear, was heading for the shore. He shoved and cursed his way through the crowds like a salmon swimming upstream. A group of men caught his arm and voices were raised.
He slapped my rump and replied in purest Caledonian. Everyone laughed. Except me.